


Oral Fixation Raised to the Power of n

by foxghost



Category: Finder no Hyouteki | Finder Series
Genre: Crack, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Public Display of Affection, Rimming
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-27
Updated: 2018-01-27
Packaged: 2019-03-09 21:55:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,690
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13490559
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/foxghost/pseuds/foxghost
Summary: I wanted the title to be(oral_fixation)nbut ao3 formatting won't let me. So let's pretend it is that.Asami Ryuichi has apparently gone a bit bonkers and his oral fixation has multiplied in an exponential way; nobody wants to tell Takaba the what or why or even, how.





	Oral Fixation Raised to the Power of n

**Author's Note:**

> This was supposed to be crack, but somewhere around the middle I got caught up writing the smut, so now it is pwp and I'm hoping it's still somewhat funny. I'm just going to warn you that this is canon-level filth dialed up to 11, okay.
> 
> It takes place in the same universe as Divide by Zero, though it could also fit into tilt-shift; just give them six months or so to settle into a relationship.

It begins, innocently enough, at a party, with a sloppy kiss on the cheek.

It's the kind of gallery opening where the cheese plate must taste of regret, what with everyone giving the table a wide berth, and where the sugar is in free-flowing fountain format - which is how Asami got Takaba to agree to play arm-candy in the first place. Takaba's busy with a chocolate dipped banana and a glass of ice wine when he's attacked unawares.

Takaba is used to Asami Ryuichi's hovering, usually visible as a tall blur just out of focus out of range, and he's somewhat cognisant of the dangers that may bring to whomever he chooses to flirt with at these things so he tends to keep an eye out. But Asami plays social butterfly reasonably well and it's not often he alights on Takaba, maybe passes by with a fresh drink or an introduction or a slice of cheesecake when he sees that Takaba is getting bored thrice in a night; this time he just brings himself, parks at Takaba's hip like a ship at anchor as he cups an opposite elbow with a large hand, angling him for a kiss on the cheek so wet and open-mouthed it's on the high end of obscene with a hundred and fifty people in the same room.

There's sticky, sweet wine jostled all over Takaba's fingers, and he's sure he looks absolutely scandalised, but Asami's already moved along to make small talk with someone who's trying so hard not to say anything weird she looks like she's about to lay an egg. Takaba can only stare at his back, bewildered.

It's Kirishima who walks up to Takaba within twenty seconds, attentive with a moist towelette and a fresh drink and a large plate full of miniature cakes before he's back to blending into the walls, or the crowd, whichever comes first.

Takaba's left alone to munch on the cakes in a haze of fuming indignance: what the fuck was that all about?

* * *

Asami's constantly stepping into what Takaba considers his personal space like he owns it, touching him all the time in private like he owns him, so their boundaries have always been a bit fucked.

Takaba's not entirely sure yet if all of it is intentional pushing or Asami's just grown up foreign, but he's decided by now that it doesn't matter. He's settled somewhere between rebellion and resignation, but he barely lifts an eyebrow when Asami barges into his time and space, having gotten used to whatever borders they have between them changing daily like the Middle East.

It's Saturday afternoon, and naturally Asami is working and so is Takaba, cropping and lining up photographs because professionals sometimes take too many shots per minute and his sensei can be a total slob. It's up to Takaba to tweak things so models look like they're standing on an even floor and their skin isn't blue or green but somewhere reasonably white-balanced.

Asami's not opposed at all to sharing his oversized L-shaped desk, and as further bait he's bought a second one of those 170,000 yen ergonomic chairs with a mesh back and lumbar support. None of that is helping though, because Asami's using Takaba as a stress toy and no matter how much faster his wifi is, it is not worth this level of sexual harassment.

"Will you just -" Takaba protests, as Asami reaches over to tweak at a nipple for what feels like the Nth time  _today_. 

"Shh - I'm trying to think," says Asami, staring at his laptop screen like it contains the secret of the universe and not one of Kirishima's overly complicated spreadsheets.

Takaba hisses back, "Well, I'm trying to work!"

Asami just goes to fondle the top of Takaba's thighs instead, which is an improvement, but still distracting.

The next time Takaba has to bat fingers away from his nipple, Asami just grabs him by the wrist and drags Takaba into his lap, where Asami can roll up Takaba's shirt and lick at his chest, to run his tongue over the visible bones of his ribcage and to suck on his nipples until they perk and redden and point for a full fifteen minutes before putting him back. It is both amazing how casual it all is, and very disappointing, as Takaba gets to sit back into a chair that no longer feels comfortable and like lounging on a cloud but rather like levitation torture.

Asami has this knot between his brows and he's very pointedly not kissing Takaba, and after the kind of attention that makes Takaba thinks he can probably write a book about Asami Ryuichi's lips, that makes him think - traitorously, against all reason - that Asami should be kissing him all the time.

Takaba is used to Asami being handsy in private, mouthy in the wrongest and also the most breathtaking way, but he's not used to Asami being a cock tease, which Takaba is sure Asami has just demonstrated the textbook definition of. It takes Takaba minutes of slow breathing exercises, the kind other people use for panic attacks but Takaba mostly uses to keep a telephoto lens steady, to settle his hard-on down to a somewhat manageable level.

"Okay, right. Work," Takaba says to himself, his hands back on his mouse and keyboard and his mind decidedly not on his crotch.

It gives him time to think about histograms and CMYK separations and fixing flyaways by cheating with the median filter, but it all goes to shit when Asami reaches into Takaba's waistband to grope him for no. Good. Reason.

When Asami finally closes that stupid, accursed, awful, waste of time of a spreadsheet that's been taking up his attention all day, Takaba jumps him and they end up having sex in the most uncomfortable way possible, on an ergonomic chair that is most unergonomic for this purpose, with a perfectly good king sized bed in the next room.

Asami is surprised and so shocked and verbally pleased at Takaba taking the initiative and being really aggressive about it he orders in sushi afterwards without any prompting. 

Takaba calls Asami five kinds of names insinuating his blatant lack of awareness, another three insulting his intelligence, because they've been having sex all day as far as Takaba's concerned, all that semi-conscious foreplay far too effective to be unintentional.

* * *

Takaba gets invited (Kirishima practically got on his knees and begged) to the Dracaena opening, where everyone is a giraffe and Takaba feels kind of like a child staring up at all the nostrils, but surprisingly he runs into people he knows from his fashion photography jobs, so the snotty club manager (another Suoh? Sudoh? Something forgettable to go with a blandly forgettable face) doesn't really bother him at all.

What's bothering him is how handsy Asami's getting one hour into the evening.

They're at a dance club at least, where people are expected to be handsy, but Asami's the owner and the guest of honour even without turning heads everywhere he goes, so every single pair of eyes are on them and it's terrible for Takaba's blood pressure as Asami practically dry humps him on the dance floor.

"Can't you wait until later," Takaba says, clinging to Asami for dear life; his black leather pants are too tight by far and Asami isn't helping - or in his opinion, totally helping - things, nibbling the tops of Takaba's ears like he's starving and there aren't entire buffet tables of hors d'oeuvres along the walls and Takaba's the only thing on his menu.

"Later is later," Asami says, as if that's reasonable, and Takaba thinks he's pouting like a child and it's kind of cute. Asami's hands are positively clingy and utterly ridiculous the way they're always on Takaba, as if he's lost all sense of object permanence. "Let me touch you a little without all the complaining."

"I am not complaining, I'm being Japanese, we have this thing about not touching people in public," complains Takaba, batting away Asami's hand as it creeps ever closer to his crotch.

"We are in  _my_  dance club," Asami contends, while hooking his thumb into Takaba's pants and settles for grabbing his ass, his pale hand against the dark leather in plain sight for everyone to see. "If I can't touch what's  _mine_  in a club that is  _owned_  by me, what is even the point of owning everything."

He's right, it's rather depressing, and Asami sounds kind of _depressed_ and Takaba is defenseless against it.

Takaba half turns, only marginally moving to the beat as he nuzzles at Asami's neck, and he lets Asami's big arms envelop him, lets himself be caged in as he says softly into Asami's chin, "Just what is bothering you?"

Something is stressing him out, but like a dragon and its hoard Asami is secretive with his business and more secretive still with his troubles, and even if nothing is bothering him something is different and Takaba is too sharp not to notice. Asami is dark under the eyes and his eyes are bloodshot half the time, his hands have a slight tremor to them lately like he's not getting enough sleep.

"Nothing," Asami says, lying to Takaba's face, as he continues to be a no holds barred asshole who can't understand Takaba's aversion to PDA.

Thankfully he's on for twenty minutes at most before wandering off to make official small talk at official people, so Takaba gets to stand in a corner with a flute of champagne and have enough time to convince himself that he's not turned on at all.

It takes another two hours of milling about chatting up (and up at) models and swapping business cards before Asami's assaulting him at a corner of the dance floor again. This time, Takaba drags them into the manager's office, hoping to get it out of their system so Asami would stop with the pawing at him in public.

They end up fucking on the leather couch, which is unhelpfully black, so when Asami drags them both off of it the mess they make is kind of obvious and Takaba's convinced that's why Sudoh hates him and gives him the stink eye every single time he goes back to Dracaena. The poor man - every time he looks at that couch opposite his desk he'll remember that his boss is the kind of inconsiderate asshole that makes friends wherever he goes.

Worse yet, it doesn't help at all, and two hours later Asami is back to his old tricks, biting into Takaba's neck as Takaba's biting into his 20th chocolate truffle.

Takaba keeps expecting Kirishima to come rescue him already, drag Asami off to some important person he's supposed to meet, but Asami's secretary just stands in his corner looking by turns blank and thoughtful and like Asami's not his problem at all.

* * *

Two months into Asami going from mildly prodding at Takaba's public boundaries to bulldozing right through them, Takaba can't take the suspense any longer and corners Kirishima in his office while Asami's on a business trip.

He does not find out about this until later, but Suoh tells him that those two days away turned out particularly bloody.

"What. Is. Up. With him," Takaba asks, leaning over Kirishima's desk because being polite just gives Kirishima more room to be evasive, and Takaba has no one else he can bully the way Asami's been bullying him.

And he has a slight inkling that whatever the trouble may be, it is very likely Kirishima's fault.

"I am sure I have no idea what you're talking about." Kirishima is evasive anyway, paying his full attention to his laptop, staunchly pretending that Takaba isn't even there.

"That is an outright lie. Now talk before I kiss you," Takaba tries for menacing, manages somewhere between not seductive at all and very life threatening, and as he snaps the laptop lid shut Kirishima barely escapes with his fingers.

Kirishima leans back in his chair like Takaba's breathing fire. "You wouldn't."

"Try me," says Takaba, grinning, looking mildly deranged.

"There is nothing I can say about this that the boss wouldn't interpret as an insult, and from personal experience I know you're unable to keep a secret to save your own life, so again," Kirishima says, so fast Takaba wonders if he even breathes, "I am not telling you anything."

That is a a marked improvement from not acknowledging there being a problem in the first place, and that, Takaba can work with.

"So it's not just my imagination - something is up." Takaba leans forward an extra smidgen; Kirishima leans back by a multiple of two. "He's not just getting more comfortable with me."

"You are just sharp enough to cut yourself, Takaba-san," says Kirishima, his glasses magically as opaque as the safe in which he keeps all of Asami's secrets. "Your threats are empty, and this conversation is over."

* * *

Takaba is summoned by Asami halfway through his workday, interrupting his all important task of holding up light reflecting panels until his arms fall off.

Sion sends their regards by way of electroplated filigreed golden and black notecards and dorayaki in ten different flavours and a pretty girl to hold up the panels in place of Takaba, so no one's going to miss him for the day. Takaba storms into Asami's office wearing a storm on his face, the kind that promises hail, not because he didn't get any dorayaki (okay, that too) but because Asami has gotten in the way of his work again.

But he walks into Asami swirling a shot glass of bourbon all maudlin and pensive looking, sinking into his office chair with a pose that is positively forlorn, and Takaba feels all his fight draining out of him. Cats may be heartless murderers, but Takaba's not very good at saying no to depressed cats, and to him Asami is likely the most irresistible big cat of all.

"What's wrong -" Takaba starts, and gets dragged down into Asami's lap before he has a chance to turn that into a question.

It's been exactly two days since Asami left the country, and according to his agenda, exactly 30 minutes since he got back. In any other relationship, Takaba will chalk this clinginess up to being missed, the need to close the chasm of time opened up by a bloody business trip, but this is Asami so all Takaba's previous assumptions of what relationships are supposed to be like gets rejected over the ocean like so much airplane trash.

Takaba's thinking too much, will likely be told it's a dangerous use of his time, and while he's thinking, Asami's tasting Takaba's lips like they don't serve food on the Sion private jet and he's a starving man. Asami tastes like he's been eating bourbon for breakfast lunch and dinner for two days straight, a sharp dry sweetness on his tongue,  breathing fire as he sucks on Takaba's lower lip until it buzzes with blood and excitement. There's a sheen of alcohol and the cold bite of recycled air on Takaba's swollen lip when Asami pulls away, pulsing in tune to the twitch in his dick.

"What's the matter," Takaba mumbles half-heartedly at the ceiling as Asami lavishes kisses on his neck, tracing his pulse like there's a shape to it, a rounded half-moon going from his ear to the divot between his collarbones.

The inbox tray is piled high from neglect so when Asami maneuvers Takaba onto the desk, a pile of files go thudding onto the floor. Takaba's about to point this out to Asami, but of course that would be stupid, since Kirishima may have an aneurysm over the files now being hopelessly out of order, Asami just wants them out of his way so Takaba can be planted firmly in his way.

Asami hums at him, his mouth leaving a trail of cooling kisses over Takaba's clavicle before answering the half-forgotten question. "My mouth is lonely."

It's the most apt description of Asami's oral fixation for the past two months but it doesn't tell Takaba anything. Also, Asami has no business being this fucking adorable, Takaba thinks, it dials the endearing up to eleven and all of Asami's crimes somewhere into the negatives and it's blatantly unfair, possibly illegal in the amorphous rules of engagement of whatever the fuck tacit agreement they've found themselves.

Meanwhile his self-professed lonely mouth is busy finding companionship and Takaba has had exactly two days of his own hand in the shower so he has a decision to make: does he make Asami a) drive him to the penthouse five minutes away, b) wait until later, c) do it in the limo and pretend Kirishima doesn't exist or d) let Asami make a mess of him all over his mahogany desk.

"Your mouth is lonely," Takaba echos him like an idiot, committing the way Asami said it to memory, it's so damn cute.

Any sane person would choose option A, the responsible choice where the nightstand is stocked with lube and condoms, but Asami's unzipping Takaba's pants and finding other parts of Takaba's body to keep his mouth from going lonely and Takaba thinks maybe insanity is perfectly acceptable as long as one is only afflicted with it for three hours or so.

Choice D it is, and it looks like Asami hasn't even considered any other option, and it's a bit late for Takaba to remind him.

Asami's tongue is hot, and the flat of it rough, and the tip of it very determined, and not satisfied with merely mouthing or licking at Takaba along the shaft or to suck him down the way he's been obsessed with lately, teasing for hours.

Right now it's technically work hours, Asami's technically at work, Takaba's technically supposed to be working, and Asami's just got back from a business trip and he's just pushed all his work onto the floor so he probably has things to do. In the interest of expediency and a total lack of lube, Asami settles for liberal application of his tongue to Takaba's ass.

"Oh god," Takaba says aloud, this is embarrassing enough in Asami's bed but in his office it's fucking impossible.

To get to Asami's office you have to walk past Kirishima's desk and get ushered through a heavy set of double doors. Takaba's hoping they're soundproof, because he's never, ever going to get used to being eaten out; it's going to make him fall apart every time, he's going to be a screamer every single time, and no amount of soundproofing will ever be enough for what's coming out of his mouth right now, all the single syllable pleas as Asami works him open with an agile tongue.

It's mindlessly intimate and it feels amazing but it digs him open, turns him inside out like nothing else could, so when Asami starts talking to him, being vocal on top of being himself, it feels like a suckerpunch.

"I missed you so much," Asami's saying, barely taking a breath between sloppy, obscene, all-tongue kisses to Takaba's hole.

All Takaba can see of him as he leans back on his elbows, as he feels the wood surface hard on his lower back is a set of determined eyebrows and half-closed eyes, and it's unfair that Asami can look elegant doing this but he does - folding Takaba double on his desk, working him over as his own knees are planted on plush carpet, shoulders tense and eyes half-clouded over with lust.

Takaba's mind feels flayed open by the words, as his ass is loosening up to the tip of Asami's tongue. His body is wanting and grasping and been missing him for days and Asami waits until Takaba is loose and open and tight in the balls before he switches gear, sucks Takaba's brains out by the cock so whatever thinking he's been trying to do gets muddled into a quick and easy orgasm, just an appetiser. Takaba's quaking in it, grasping at emptiness, open and wet and waiting and getting wetter as Asami pushes the spend in his mouth into Takaba's ass. It's the most filthy way to fuck, they may as well be in an alleyway behind a bar in Ni-chome at this rate, but it's desperate and needy and so hot Takaba thinks he may just combust on the spot.

"Oh - gah - wait," Takaba's clawing at his own face as if that could stop himself from immolating, and Asami's unzipped his fly and he's starting to plug up Takaba with his cock, barely slicked by precum and dry enough for Takaba to feel the rapid beating of a pulse through its tip.

His cock is scorchingly hot, but that could be because Takaba's wet and a bit cold from it, his ass has been hanging over the edge of a desk exposed for minutes on end. It's not surprising at all that it burns like hell going in, nothing but cum and saliva smoothing the way.

"Slow down," Takaba whines, slapping at Asami's shoulders to set the pace. "Oh god - stop. Wait, damn it."

He has to whine out the rest of the words into Asami's mouth, the edges of it wet, lips swollen and cold, beneath it all a slight bitterness, the freshness of grass and life and the musky undertone of sweat. Asami does slow down though, not pushing so much as letting Takaba open up the rest of the way, and as the crown finally fits, snug inside behind his balls, they stop kissing long enough to stare at each other for long heartbeats.

Being in the same room with Asami is sex, Takaba decides, because when he's not touching Takaba, he's looking at Takaba, and the way Asami looks at him is absolutely filthy, hungry with teeth and claws, and even the way he blinks in between the looking is erotic. Being with him all day and fondled every time Asami's hand twitches and wants something to play with is markedly objectifying, but Takaba doesn't think he minds so much any more, and there's a special high getting off without actual body parts involved, even, when he's attention fucked by Asami with his eyes and his breath and his head buzzes with that heated, searching gaze on him.

"More," Takaba sounds strangled, the way the words cut off even before his mouth can fully form them.

Once the burn and the pain fades into something dull and manageable, he feels unbelievably full, and it must be how sex-crazed Asami's been lately rubbing off on Takaba because it feels like being empty is the altered, unnatural state and the default is being filled up all the time. "Now. More," and he feels Asami's hips, the slim bones of him and the muscular panes of him against his own ass, the sound of skin on skin a wet smack that makes him shiver, and he wraps his legs around Asami, pushes his ankles into Asami's lower back to get him even closer.

"Did you miss me?" Asami's dropping his head to Takaba's shoulder, breathing in deep but he can't be smelling anything than sex by this point, the office is going to need an airing, and he nibbles at the join between Takaba's shoulder and his neck. "Tell me you missed me."

He's still forming full sentences; life is unfair that way.

"Isn't it - ah -" Takaba has to slap at Asami again to stop, and to breathe, as Asami's angled himself for that first shallow pull out and thrust just after that little question and he's turning all of Takaba's words into stars behind his eyelids, "- obvious."

Asami's hair is all over the place, his bangs are hanging over his forehead, hiding his amber eyes so they're flickers of desire behind a dark curtain, and Takaba can't remember walking in to see him like this or whether being together like this has wrecked Asami as much as it's made Takaba an utter mess. Takaba reaches up and takes Asami's face in his hands and pushes a thumb into his mouth, runs the pad of it messily over the ridges of his teeth; he thinks he likes Asami this way - dishevelled and sleeves rucked up and very, very needy.

"It really isn't." Asami catches Takaba's thumb between his teeth, and worries over the pad of it, sucking on it, and when that doesn't feel like enough he bites over the side, bites down at the base, holds onto him and just keeps Takaba in his mouth as he slowly begin to fuck him, a rocking grinding rhythm that can go on forever.

Takaba's holding onto him too in turn, palm warm over Asami's jaw and fingers tucked snug behind his cheekbone, marvelling at the way his cheeks hollow, at the Heian colouring of his skin, flushed with heat and sweat, stubble scraping beneath his palm.

In moments like these he's unrelentingly human, his cultured miyabi attitude left in a pile at the door; and yet the way he kisses is still the very definition of heartbreaker.

"I missed you too," and it's nearly too much, the knife edge of Asami's answering smile cutting too close to Takaba's heart, and he needs to punctuate it all by tightening up, bearing down on Asami's cock with enough strength to make him think it may just snap him in half, with enough strength for Asami to hiss around Takaba's hand, giving them that extra bit of distance Takaba needs.

Asami lets Takaba go, laughing a short dangerous laugh and chasing it with a smile like a shark, sending it all down to Takaba, all sharp teeth; and he holds down Takaba by the hips, his thumbs and his fingers bearing down with crushing, bruising force, leaving petal shaped marks that will be visible over the tops of his jeans. He grins down and plows into him, setting a sadistic pace that goes right past comfortable, cum and saliva making the kind of slick that doesn't quite slip so Takaba feels himself turned inside out on every thrust. It's savage the way he disregards comfort for them both; for it must hurt him too, chafes at this skin the same way, zipper digging into the base of his cock, metal teeth rubbing on the back of Takaba's thighs, giving them matching red marks.

Takaba goes right back to monosyllabic pleading, and there must be tears in his eyes, Asami's kissing the corners of them, licking the thin skin at this temples, catching Takaba's hair with his stubble. The press of his lips is insistent, is hot and the rumble in his chest he passes through their skin, through the fine hairs at his hairline and through the pulse of a vein - though neither of them can tell you which one.

"Should have taken you with me," Asami's rambling words barely registers, "wanted you as soon as I got off the plane there - wanted to fly right back." And he's saying something insane, something far too close to a confession, with the wet slap of their bodies and Takaba's throaty whine drowning it all out - all the noises in his head and all the words coming from Asami merging into a chorus of white light as Asami plunges into him brutally.

Asami isn't going for any precise angle, he's going for having his mouth on Takaba at all times, and however messy they're connecting it's gauging him out all the same, touches everything inside of him on each thrust, and he feels the usual overwhelming completion of being utterly owned; but that's easy, whereas all the latent feelings are not, this sweetness in his chest over Asami's words, entirely too much.

It's so much easier to be fucked mindless and wordless, so Takaba lets himself make a sound like a continuous whine, all his words blending into each other in one long string. Somewhere in there he's begging Asami to touch him, but his cock is trapped, they're pressed too close together, he's scraping against the ridges of Asami's muscles and it doesn't give him enough friction to come.

"Please please please - Asami. Please," Takaba has no idea what he wants, has no idea what he's asking for, he wants a hand on his cock maybe or for Asami to stop or for this go on forever.

Asami chases Takaba's jaw with his lips, with his tongue, with his teeth; scratches his stubble on Takaba's neck, and his thrusts becomes irregular and his breathing stumbles and Takaba can only hold on, nails ripping into the smooth cotton thinly veiling his back.

Then Asami makes room for him, bending himself into a bow to snake a hand between them, and tugs at Takaba's cock hard and rough and dry save for the sweat on his body, and the callouses of his fingers stutters in their slip slide on Takaba's skin.

"I'm going to -" Takaba's close, so close, but Asami's pulsing inside him, hot, filling him up, and Takaba makes a crying sound, a little disappointed that it'll end but Asami's chuckling by his ear, laughing at him.

Takaba's about to clock him for his cheek when Asami slips two fingers in alongside his cock and curls his fingers and Takaba nearly flips himself off the desk.

"Come on, touch yourself. Let me feel you," Asami's by his ear, urging or commanding he's not sure but he's compelled so Takaba reaches down and wraps a hand around himself, and as he does, he's rewarded with a kiss.

There's a tongue in his mouth and a cock in his ass and on top of all that, Asami's doing something with his fingers, rubbing circles inside of him so he has no choice but to unravel. Takaba thinks he may be crying, moaning around Asami's tongue in his mouth as he goes - the frustration of wanting too much and getting too much gloriously coming together and coming undone. His hips buck up into Asami, his arms tighten around Asami, and the spasms and heat up his spine is too good, and too sweet, and honestly Takaba would rather not dwell on it too much.

Takaba thinks the clinginess is catching, because he's wrapped his arms around Asami and his legs are still wrapped around Asami and he doesn't feel the need to let go.

"Better," Asami says, and despite the puddle of cum on his stomach and the mess they made of the desk and how Asami's clothes are entirely ruined now, Takaba's inclined to agree with him.

"What is with you lately -" Takaba brushes aside Asami's bangs, his hand limp and soft and boneless, overcome by the lassitude of post-coital crash. He tries to catch Asami's gaze, tries to find an answer in his tired face. "Stressed out with work?"

"Very," Asami agrees.

Takaba hums at him, quietly, softly - starting to get uncomfortable. All the little aches newly acquired screwing on a hard desk is showing up just as soon as arousal is wearing off. He's bundled up in Asami's discarded suit jacket and dressed, tucked into a corner of a black leather sofa as Asami settles in next to him with his laptop and phone, as though even working three metres away is too far.

Why Asami's been so clingy and handsy lately is still a mystery, but it's a nice change from waiting up for him, and a nice change from being lived without; Takaba thinks he may like this, and he drowses, falls partway asleep in Asami's lap.

Asami's fingers are unceasing in their jittery movement, though, flipping Takaba's hair, twirling the strands around his knuckles; it's both familiar and strange, like Asami's holding onto something else, and it nearly opens the puzzlebox of the past two months. But he's sleepy and his brain has gone some place else that doesn't smell of sex, and in about two hours those fingers will be pushing into him where he's still fucked open, silently demanding round two.

It's really hard to figure anything out, Takaba finds, when one's body is occupied all the time, and Asami's mouth  _wants_  to be occupied all the time.

* * *

It's a lot more quiet downstairs in the breakroom, so that's where Kirishima's brought his work.

He knows better than to sit at his desk while the boss and Takaba go at it; it's just uncomfortable for everyone involved, including every single person who has the unfortunate timing to show up before Kirishima has a chance to cancel their appointment.

So Kirishima's down here sipping coffee with Suoh instead, which is highly preferable over waiting them out upstairs.

"Kei," says Suoh.

"Kazumi," answers Kirishima.

Suoh gives him a look that's nearly a smile. "How much do you have riding on this one?"

"5000 yen."

Suoh whistles, "You have 5k on over? Or under?"

"I have a lot of faith in the boss," says Kirishima, fingers tapping away on his laptop.

"Yes," says Suoh, and it's really impossible to tell if he's being sarcastic, because he's Suoh. "That's why you begged Takaba to go to the Dracaena opening."

"I did not beg," Kirishima rejects the notion. "I asked nicely."

"You offered him at least thirty kinds of chocolate truffles and five kinds of cake."

"So maybe I bribed him a little," says Kirishima. "Boss needed some incentive to not blow up."

They sit in silence for a while, Kirishima deep in his work, and Suoh deep in his thoughts.

"Don't you think it's a little odd, though?" Suoh asks, after much contemplation.

Kirishima stops tapping. "What is odd?"

"It's been eight weeks. He should be done with the nicotine withdrawal by now," says Suoh, as he recounts the past two days of bloody negotiations in his mind. "But if you'd seen him yesterday you'd think he just decided to quit last week."

They spend far too much time thinking and trying to figure out if the other person has all the answers.

"It's a medical mystery," Kirishima pushes up his glasses. "We may never know the answer."

**Author's Note:**

> (oral_fixation)n  
> n = the number of minutes an Asami Ryuichi has to go without a Takaba Akihito.
> 
> The equation Kirishima's using to calculate his odds:  
> n = the number of days an Asami Ryuichi has to go without a pack of Dunhills.
> 
> No wonder his numbers are off. (He wins either way though. The bet is on whether the boss quits _smoking._ ) 
> 
> 口寂しい - My mouth is lonely - is actually a really common phrase. You'd say it if you're ... not hungry, but want something in your mouth. Which Takaba can totally understand but never heard out of Asami's mouth, so. It's cute, no?
> 
> I'm on [tumblr](https://foxghost.tumblr.com) if you want to come yell about words and such.


End file.
